we bleed the same
by Ramblesx
Summary: "Rey is an expert at making broken things unbroken." -Kylo(Ben)/Rey, pre-tfa.


**we bleed the same:**

 **-** kylo(ben)/rey

* * *

 _you and I_

 _share the same reflection_

 _we cannot survive in this condition_

 _if you're cut, i'll_ **bleed**

 _. . ._

 _does she know that we_ **bleed** _the same?_

* * *

She watches the stars before she sleeps, and unlikely dreams embed within her.

She dreams of her unknown family returning to her.

She dreams of leaving this place behind her. _Ambition, ambition, ambition..._

She dreams of having someone to hold her as she sleeps.

* * *

Rey is only eight when the nightmares begin.

 _Alone, frightened, confused..._

Her head spins with such intensity that it makes it impossible to salvage for parts for the next few days. Without parts, she goes without rations. Her stomach practically _concaves_. She has dreams about everything and nothing. She dreams about soaring over the expanse of the universe, and her body trembles with terror when her mind envisions a creature with a cold voice and even colder eyes. He - _it_ \- wants her. So she runs.

She runs and she runs and she runs.

Rey runs so fast she doesn't see the boy in her reflection.

Instead she sees her parents. The woman, she's so beautiful. With dark hair that extends down to her waist and a temper that comes and goes so quick it gives Rey whiplash. She has spirit, this woman, and the man is filled with sincerity, yet he hides it behind a mask of confidence and snarky remarks. A glass breaks. Rey fiddles with her fingers uncomfortably, her hazel eyes not daring to glance up.

They're arguing about her again. They tear each other apart with cruel words, and salt the wounds with reminders before the lashes can heal completely. She feels like she's going to be torn apart. Her insides feel like they're ripping. Back and forth, back and forth they go, like this is a game, only she knows it isn't. She should've kept her mouth shut. She _should've, could've, should've-_

"Who," she begins carefully, "Is Darth Vader?"

And her father's expression hardens to stone. His eyes are angry. He blames her for this. Her mother's eyes are filled with fear - and with a startling realization, Rey notes that her own mother is afraid of her. A tiny eight year old. Something in her chest blisters with a red hot emotion, one that feels a lot like resentment. There's a silence. Then,

"Never talk about him. Again."

Her father's words are harsh, and they cut against Rey's ears like razorblades.

"Please," he repeats. Softer this time. Better. It grazes against Rey's ears like honey.

But it's too late.

She'll never look at them the same way ever again.

* * *

Rey wakes from the dream to blinding sunlight and a shriveled rose. Dust is carried gingerly in the breeze. Her skin feels like it's on fire. Burning like rubble on the cemented ground. She rolls on her side and feels the loneliness heavier than ever. It wracks at her body, and tears fill her eyes, and she trembles and quakes. She struggles to hold herself together. Why do they fight over her? Why can't they-

She freezes.

It's just a dream, she reminds herself. Just a dream, but it feels like reality, and it's hard to shake the tendrils of impending betrayal from her mind. She loses herself in finding parts- anything - something - because her stomach is shriveled up like her rose, and it's so empty that it feels as if it's pushing itself inward. She's dealt with hunger before, but never has she been so ravenous. She finds a part that resembles a saw. It still somewhat works, and she goes to see Unkar Plutt. He gives her a half ration, and she tries her best to ignore how his eyes rake over her small frame. She's too young to understand what it implicates, but her stomach feels queasy when he leans in too close to her face. His breath smells bad, and her heart cringes.

The voice in her head is wiser.

 _Bad man_ , is all Rey can make out from the tangents of thoughts. And then, _pervert._

And she trusts the voice in her head, so she does her best to avoid the alien creature.

She does her job during the day. Tries to drive the life she's never had from her memories, and focuses on collecting the parts that will keep her alive.

She specializes in making _broken_ things _unbroken._

At the end of every day, _every single goddamn day,_ she is sunburned and hot, and she shovels the portions into her throat so fast that she can't even taste the flavor, nor does she want to. She just keeps pushing it down, but every time, as she finishes, her stomach always feels empty. She's never full, but she's alive. She's not truly living, but at least she's existing. Her dreams are like solace in comparison to life in the dunes here, but she should've been careful what she wished for. Because the second Rey's eyes smack against the thin layer of ripped sheets, she spirals back in.

* * *

She is young when she's shipped away from the women with the fiery spirit, and the man who only ever looks at her with caution, as if she's a ticking time bomb just waiting to explode. There's mistrust. Everywhere. In the air she breathes. A part of her wants to prove them wrong. That she's fine, but she knows something is watching her - she can feel it. And that presence makes her want to prove them right. She wants to be a bomb that explodes and ravages and destroys everything that has ever existed.

"It's for the best, darling," her mother had claimed.

She thinks, for the first time in her life, that she _hates_ her mother. She's in trouble, she's being tormented by _something_ \- but her mother doesn't care about that. She only cares about herself. The assumption is mean and ugly, and makes her feel colder than she's ever felt, but she can't bring herself to take it back. She thinks of her father, who had taken off the moment he had been capable of ridding her completely. She feels bitter, afraid, angry - but worst of all, completely and utterly _alone._

It's green, this planet.

This new planet is an uncharted area, where her uncle waits with outstretched arms.

Trust goes both ways.

They don't trust her. And Rey? Well, she's never trusted much of anyone, but this Rey is different. This Rey expects trust, longs for it.

A younger boy tries to make friends with her, but she's so burned by the rejection. Blistered, even. The abandonment. How her own parents detest being in the same room as her, as if she's some kind of monster, some kind of _abomination_ –

"You're famous," the boy exclaims. He's the grandson of a Jedi with no name to his face, but he's strong with the force, so strong. Luke wants her to be like him, to be soft yet firm, to be trusting yet docile, to be everything she's not. They want to twist her and mold her into something new, and she hates every second of it. But she loves them, she loves them still.

There's another ugly thought:

 _How can she love the family that will never love her back?_

"You're famous," he repeats excitedly. "Your mother is Leia Organa. Your father is Han Solo. You're named after Ben Kenobi. You are Luke Skywalker's legacy – "

She snaps at him, harsh and bitter, but quiet and hopeless. "And my grandfather is Darth Vader." The battle has already been lost. She knows this. There's only a fumble to stay on the light, but she knows there will be a fall. There always is.

Everyone distrusts him, (him? This is her dreams, right?) everyone hates him, everyone watches him, as if waiting for him (no, her. This is _her dreams_ ) to do something unforgivable.

Rey – he – whoever this child is, finally decides then to prove them right.

* * *

She's eleven by the time she's gotten used to the dreams.

She brandishes a weapon while she is awake. It's a spear, and a presence is humming in her head, as if to say _good job, smart of you_. She doesn't fully trust this voice, this boy, this man, but she allows him to stay, if only for the sake that she doesn't wither away into loneliness.

She scavenges for parts. She feels him watching her intently (perhaps she's gone mad? But even if she is mad, she is functioning, she is alive, she is breathing still) and she swings from the rafters of an abandoned ship and visits Plutt. She gets a quarter portion, a small piece of bread and just enough water for her to fill a few spoonsful into her mouth. Just enough to rid the dryness, but never enough to quench her thirst.

Rey heads home, eager for sleep, and hungry for the bread that rests in her torn satchel.

The ache of the heat and her hunger distracts her.

She's attacked on the walk back home.

He's screaming in her head. Desperately. Giving her instructions that Rey doesn't have the will to follow. She swings her weapon at them, but it's weak (she is weak and _without resolve_ ). He's afraid for her. She's too hot to care. They beat her up. Take everything she has on her, and she lays on the sand as blood spills from her lip. The skin around her right eye feels uncomfortably tight. She lays there, glad that all they had wanted was her rations, and not - well, another hunger that was only sated around here by the destruction of innocence.

 _Get up, scavenger,_ he hisses. His voice jostles in her mind, startling her. She blames it on the heat, and the way her vision spins and blurs. A simple hallucination. _You can't just give up._

 _Why not? You did._

There's a silence, and then -

 _Get up, brat. Fight._

She passes out right then and there, and his voice fades into a dream.

* * *

She spars with her fellow Knights, but she's never felt so alone. Her blade is blue, and she hacks away at her opponent, who is sneering and taunting at her – "Your grandfather is Darth Vader." As if waiting for her to break. She gets a cut to her arm, and she recoils backwards before digging her fingers into the cut. Dig, dig, dig. More blood spurts out. She returns the favor with a strong, angry impulse. The force seems to crackle with energy, and she grins cruelly as he tumbles to his knees.

Her uncle watches in disapproval from the sidelines. "I think I've seen enough. That was a dark side strategy, Ben. You know better."

Ben, she thinks with sudden adoration and slight fear.

This lonely boy's name is _Ben._

It isn't her at all.

Ben sneers. "My apologies, _uncle._ " A word that should be spoken as an endearment is spoken like a curse.

Luke looks _exhausted,_ and worried. Rey can feel Ben's satisfaction at that. He pinches the bridge of his nose, while Ben's opponent climbs to his feet reluctantly. "Start again."

And so they do.

* * *

She wakes with a start. She is twelve now. The name Ben is on her lips, and she speaks it. Gently. Quietly. As if his name is a secret. "Ben."

There's some kind of pull within her, but then there is silence, (almost an _amused_ silence) and she goes and checks off another day alone on her wall. They will be back. They must be.

The voice in her head is almost silent, but she hears the words spoken as clear as day. _And if they don't come back?_

She knows the voice belongs to Ben, and she wonders how he's gotten so intune to her thoughts and memories and… even her soul, she supposes.

Rey thinks about the old woman scrubbing dirt off of pots and parts. She ponders then, if they don't return for her, that will be her life. She will live here, and she will die here. She will forever be a survivor, but not a happy one. An old woman that is always hungry and is always lonely. That will be her future, and because it almost makes her shrink to the ground and sob, she has to have hope that her family will be back. Some day. Because thinking about the alternative is too painful to possibly bear.

 _Leave here. Find me. I can promise you greatness._

Greatness. Not goodness, but greatness. Ben's words frighten her. "I - I can't," she whispers brokenly. "I have to see. I have to see if they come back."

The presence is unsatisfied, as if he wants more for her.

She wants more for him, too.

It makes the presence feel sad, oddly enough.

* * *

A few years later that pass in a blur of nothing but sand and heat and nightmares that make her wake drenched in sweat, she meets a man. He is quite taller than her, and somewhat alien, but she doesn't care. Everything is alien to her after spending so much time alone and vulnerable. She has a staff now instead of a spear, something that the voice had suggested, and he taught her with dreams and advice.

He grows colder as the years pass, but then again, so does she.

The man attempts to make conversation with her as she offers a trade of a nice compressor for a loaf of stale bread and dirty water. Plutt hasn't given her anything for two days. She's becoming dizzy now. It's difficult to stand. Breathing is hard.

The man ruffles her hair, offers her inside his small hut, and gives her the food for free.

No one trusts her, so she doesn't trust him. Her hand is tightened around her staff the entire time, but she eats the loaf and drinks the water without a second thought. And when he offers her seconds, she doesn't refuse.

"It's been a while since I've had any company," he says. His hair is white and there is wrinkles around his eyes. "My name is Lor San Tekka."

She nods politely, chugging down the water.

 _Slowly,_ the voice chastises. _You don't want to spit it up._

She takes little sips instead of chugs now, and she's beginning to understand his advice, because her empty stomach feels like a rock has been dropped inside of it. She nearly gags, but finishes the remainder of the canteen.

"Your name?" The old man turns toward her.

Rey trusts him, and she doesn't trust anyone.

"Rey," she replies stiffly.

"Rey," he repeats. "Lovely name. Would you do me the honor of entertaining me a while longer? I'm afraid I haven't seen any real people in weeks."

She's about to shake her head no, but he offers her a few rolls – of actual _real real_ bread – and she stuffs them into her mouth and intently listens about his travels. She's curious, frankly, and he's a good story teller.

"Have you ever heard the story of Icarus?" he muses aloud.

Rey shakes her head no.

"It was a story that was popular on my homeland. To warn about the dangers of power."

Ben muses back in her head _, I always thought it was more about curiosity._

She ignores the voice in her head – the boy from her dreams, and the monster from her nightmares. She listens intently to the story of Icarus, latching desperately onto every word. She pictures the sun easily enough, but the ocean beneath it is a bit harder. She's never seen an ocean, nor a sea. She hangs off of Lor San Tekka's tale. Stories and myths are all she has left to keep her company.

She listens to the story of Icarus. It's about a boy and his father that escaped a prison on makeshift wings. The father warned the boy to remain close to him, but Icarus flew too close to the sun and ended up falling to his death after his feathers had melted off. Icarus' own father had warned him, but he had gone and did it anyway.

She shivers as he finishes the twisted tale. There's always a fall, isn't there?

* * *

When Rey arrives home, she falls asleep immediately. She's full. Her stomach doesn't quiver with hunger, and her throat doesn't beg for water. She is content, and she sleeps heavy. Her dreams are light and gentle. Ben is being knighted today. His parents show up. It's awkward and embarassing that he doesn't know his own parents better, almost humiliating from the way they gaze at him, as if he's a complete stranger – but there's pride in their eyes. It's not nearly enough to fill the emptiness inside him, but it's almost – nearly a start. Until it's not, and the hopeless webs expand in his chest once again, and he turns away from them.

Chewie hugs him. Tightly. As if he's a toddler again.

Something inside him shudders, and he almost buries his chest in his fur.

Rey urges him to.

He's deponent altogether.

There's a voice, she realizes. A voice that's been following them both. The voice whispers in Ben's ear. The voice tells Rey to kill Unkar Plutt.

She doesn't listen, _but he does._

The whispers go on. She dreams that tendrils of darkness curl around Ben, blackening images of his family, and there is nothing after that. Ben is gone. His presence leaves her. Rey chalks it up to her vivid imagination, to her desperate clinging to have some form of companionship, to her starvation and her thirst. To the burning, blistering sand, that ruins and callouses her feet.

Ben had been a dream. A nightmare, almost. But deep down, she knows he's real. She knows he had been real, and she cries for him some nights.

There's never an answer.

* * *

A month later, a month of marks on her wall, she feels him again. Death. So much death. A red, crackling beam of light. A hand outstretching in the pouring rain, a mechanical one, and grazing over a blue droid. His own red beam – the same monster she's seen before – plunging into a child's chest. She tries to run. She lays on the ground, in the pouring rain, watching the catastrophe of it all. She whimpers. A broken, mangled sob escapes her lips.

He kills another, and then gazes at her. Stares right through her. Watches her hazel eyes spill tears, and her angular features tighten and retract, and her three-buns come that spill out in a damp mess.

He approaches her. She recoils.

He flinches, almost hurt. His gloved hand reaches out to the girl bathed in light, fingers outstretched, and she's shaking, but she wants to go to him.

"Ben?" her lips form the name, but she's unable to speak it.

Some kind of connection is severed, and Rey wakes up kicking and screaming at nothing and everything.

* * *

Three years later, her fingers curl around a lightsaber.

She clicks it. She can feel the heat of the blue practically caress her cheek, a comfort, as Kylo Ren stands before her. The _monster_. His eyes are dark, widening, as he takes her in. He looks completely breathless. The curls around his face billow from the wind and snow, and she thinks he could pass for handsome – in an unconventional way. Something is happening. Between them. A connection. She can feel him almost, a strange presence entrapped within the confused cage of her mind.

He watches her, and thinks that she's bathed in a warm glow. A light. Tempting him, the sorceress.

"It is _you_ ," he utters.

Rey doesn't know what he means. She grips the lightsaber tightly. Her body shakes, quivers, and a part of her wants to go to him. This is all familiar, devastatingly so, but she ignores the tingling sensation in her very soul. Instead, she charges.

The first cut she makes on him - she thinks it makes her _heart_ **bleed.**

* * *

 **A/N: i feel like this is really rushed and choppy, but i wanted to write a little ficlet to remember these two characters again. I haven't written fanfiction in so long, specifically kylo(ben)/rey fanfiction, and this is one of my favorite headcanons. That somehow they knew each other, in the dream sense, before the force awakens. Especially since in the novel, "it is you" is an actual line spoken by Kylo. Sorry if this is trash, I'm trying my best to get back into writing again.**

reviews are always appreciated!


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